


Disappeared People

by orphan_account



Category: Mahou Shoujo Madoka Magika | Puella Magi Madoka Magica
Genre: Coping, Family, Gen, Mentions of Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-04
Updated: 2013-11-04
Packaged: 2017-12-31 10:45:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1030770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Girls grow up and away.</p>
<p>Or, the five times she disappeared, and the one time she didn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Disappeared People

It was night, and it was time for bed. Junko rinsed out her mouth, wiped a towel over her face, glanced at Madoka’s reflection. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, nothing!” she stammered, head darting up and all sense of intensity darting away. “I was just – trying to pump myself up.”

“What for?”

Her gaze dropped. She fiddled with her pajama shirt. It was funny – Saotome had said she was surprised at how outgoing Madoka had suddenly become, and when she was with her new friends she kept her head held high and didn’t seem as small as before. But other times, Madoka was the same as she’d always been.

“There’s something important I need to do in the morning,” she finally said. “So I think I’m going to go out early. You probably – I mean, I don’t think you would get it, but it’s important.”

“Important, huh?” Junko drummed her fingers across the counter, wondered what on earth could be so important so early. There was just one thing that came to mind, and she smiled at the thought. “So, who are you going out with?”

“Mama!” She shrunk a whole two inches out of embarrassment. “I’m not—!”

“Aw, you don’t have to tell me,” she smiled, before shaking her head. “I’m just teasing you.”

Yeah – Madoka hadn’t completely changed; her blush was still as red as her new ribbons. Frowning, she took her towel and wiped the stubborn ends of her wet hair.

“It’s going to be lonely without you here tomorrow.”

“I’ll miss you too. At least it’s only for the morning.”

“Right.” 

But she couldn’t imagine her going out alone without her imagination going wild – there were too many stories of girls going missing, and there were horrible people everywhere. 

“You’ll be with friends, right?”

“Mami will be there.”

The _sempai_ of every good student’s dreams. That was a little better, but tension kept snared in her chest. Probably just parental anxiety. Probably.

“You should bring an umbrella – it’s going to rain tomorrow. And be careful with whatever you’re going to do, okay?”

“Definitely. You should be careful, too. I mean, if it rains tomorrow – it might be difficult to get into work.”

“I don’t think it’ll be that bad.” Junko thought it was the oddest thing to be worried about – it was just the rain, after all – but Madoka looked genuinely distressed. Like when she had been much younger, torn between going to the first day of school or staying with Junko for a little longer. She wasn’t that little kid anymore, but still. 

“Don’t worry about me,” Junko said. “I’ll keep an eye out.”

She relaxed in an instant. “You can try and come home early, so we can make up for lost time.”

“Let’s hope my meeting gets canceled, then!” She chuckled, but already felt the headache flaring. “Seriously, it’d be perfect if they just cooperated…”

“Yeah, I hope it works out. Good luck!” Madoka said. Paused, then murmured, “Good night.”

“Night.” Junko leaned over, kissed her forehead. “Love you.” 

“I love you, too.” Her smile pushed up her cheeks. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She walked out, closing the door behind her. Junko’s stomach shifted, and she didn’t know why.

Just being overprotective, she told herself. It came with being a mother.

 

(Madoka’s name was on the list of those missing. It would always be there.

Junko never stopped blaming herself.)

 

It was night, and the phone woke her up. As soon as she saw Madoka’s name, she slipped out into the hall. “Madoka? Is something wrong?”

Her breath cracked over the phone. “I – did I wake you up?” Her voice was low. “I didn’t think you’d pick up.”

“It’s fine. I haven’t been sleeping much,” she murmured as she sat on the stairs. “What’s going on?”

“It’s the storm,” she said. “I’m worried. I think it’s going to get worse. Like – what if we have to evacuate?” She said it less like a question, more like a fact. Even though the rain wasn’t so bad. “I don’t know. I was just – thinking about you, and…”

Junko tapped her fingers against the phone, rubbed a hand over her face. “Well, you’re with Mami and Homura, right? If you have to lave, make sure you’re all together. If one of you got separated, that could get pretty bad.”

“Right.”

“And then – well, you gotta pack some things. Like, clothes. Water. You know. And then you get to a shelter.” She pressed her forehead into her palm. “Any one. The closest one. And then you call us when you get there.”

And now she thought of her daughter out there, caught in a terrible storm, completely lost. Apparently, Madoka’s anxiety was just as infectious as her newfound enthusiasm. 

“You guys will go to a shelter, too. Right?”

“Of course, if there’s an evacuation. Otherwise, I’ll be snuggled up in a warm bed. And you won’t even be there to wake me up.”

“Tatsuya will.” She was still quiet, but a bit lighter.

“Yeah. And he can get pretty insistent.” She laughed, even though she was tired, and she could imagine Madoka smiling. “Are you still worried?”

“I think I feel a little better. Thank you.”

But something about her voice just seemed – off. It brought back that tiny bit of hesitance, the little voice that wanted to say no when Madoka asked to spend the night. It shouldn’t have been a problem; she had done with Sayaka plenty of times, and Mami was a responsible kid. She couldn’t help but worry, though. Maybe it was just the rain.

“Just keep yourself and your friends safe, and it’ll be fine.”

“Okay,” she said. “But you guys have to stay safe, too.”

“Of course, Madoka. Of course.” She cleared her throat, a little cough against the patters of rain. “And you know, if something bothers you, you just have to call me. Don’t worry about the time. If I’m not there, I’ll get back to you when I can.”

“I know. I just didn’t want to bother you.”

“You’re not a bother, Madoka. Sleep tight.”

“I hope you get some sleep. Good night.”

The line clicked off. Junko trudged back to bed, but she barely slept that night.

 

(When the morning came, so did the storm. At the shelter, Junko pressed herself against the windows – they weren’t supposed to be anywhere near glass, but it was the only place with a signal – and all she could do was call her, over and over. But the phone just kept ringing, screaming and screaming into the empty dark.)

 

It was night – or maybe morning – and Junko couldn’t sleep. She wasn’t surprised to see Madoka awake, too, her legs pulled to her chin, staring out at the silently chattering TV. The screen flickered when the wind blew too hard.

“Did you go out?” Madoka’s voice was small, buried under the rain and the boom of thunder.

“For a little bit.” The warmth of the alcohol flush haunted her face, and the headache was already starting. “I thought you went to bed.”

In the light, she could see the blanket around Madoka’s shoulders, even though the air was thick and stifling. “I just – I thought you weren’t going to come back.” Her voice trembled. “I know it’s stupid for me to think that, but—”

Fucking hell, she was about to say, and wanted to drag her daughter up into her arms. But she knew everything would just break down if she did that now, and she didn’t want to know how Madoka would react. So she just took a deep breath, in her nose and out her mouth. “Can I sit down with you?”

Madoka didn’t say a word, didn’t even nod, but shifted over to the end of the couch. The flick of lightning outside did strange things to her gaunt face, but at least she was here, and not out there, not in that coffin of a train station.

Or maybe she was still gone. She looked at the TV but didn’t really watch it. “They’re dead,” came her voice.

And it felt wrong that all Junko could say was, “They are. And I’m sorry.”

Two dead girls, and another one missing (probably dead, too), and all they got was a little mention in the paper, _fifteen years old_ and _cause of death unknown._ Like the stories about those who hung themselves or drove their cars into the sea. Madoka’s name could have been one of them. Could be one of them. The idea slipped in and almost made her throw up.

“And more of them will die, too.”

“What do you mean?”

“The storm.”

It certainly didn’t look like it was going to get any better. On her way home the trees thrashed in the wind, and the power must have been out in some places. 

“You can’t worry about that. I know it sounds selfish, but you need to take care of yourself. Trust me.”

But that – that was just Madoka. She worried about everyone, even strangers, dragged herself off to school when it was bad for her and went to the funerals. Maybe they helped her, but they were too sad for Junko; Mami’s just had them and Homura and a few classmates, and the other girl had even less. But she went to them, forced herself through them, even though she was dead on her feet by the time she got home. Perhaps it would help her in the long run, but for now, it just seemed like it was tearing her apart even more.

Sometimes, it was like Madoka’s biggest problem was that her heart was too great for the world. Every time she stepped out the door, self-assured and with a smile, it scared Junko a little, because the world liked to snuff out those things. Maybe it already did. And if it had – well, then, there were plenty of things she’d have to go out and change when this was over. Too many things to count. 

“When this is over,” Junko said, “maybe you can volunteer. I’ll probably be busy with work, but we can take you wherever you need to go. They’ll need people to help clean up.”

“That could be good.” 

“But it doesn’t feel like enough, does it?”

Madoka closed her arms around herself even more. “I just want to fix this. I – I could’ve stopped this, but—” Her eyes slammed shut and she trembled, crumbled apart.

“It’s okay,” Junko flung an arm around her, “none of this is your fault. You can cry. It’s okay to cry.” 

Madoka crashed into her side and shook. The sobs didn’t come, but when she finally lifted her head, a little, Junko could see the constrained tears and the squashed, lost look in her face.

“Is it okay if I talk to you tomorrow?” Madoka swallowed, thickly. “About what happened. If that’s okay.”

“Yeah, it’s okay,” Junko murmured. “That’ll be good. I’ll be here whenever you’re ready.” 

It wasn’t enough. It didn’t feel like enough.

But they managed to sleep, Madoka plastered to Junko’s side.

 

(She woke up to Tomohisa shaking her, bag and flashlight in hand. The electricity was out. Alarms rang. Madoka wasn’t there.

It was Tatsuya who pulled her up, all quiet and full of questions.)

 

It was night, and Madoka stared out the window again, even though it was raining hard and there wasn’t anything out there, anyway. This morning, she hadn’t been there to wake Junko, and when she did get up, she rushed through her morning, didn’t even stop to brush her teeth. Junko joked about it – _she’s just learning to sleep in, like her mom_ – but she still felt a little concerned.

Madoka was still in her uniform, her hair still tied. When she brushed her teeth, she said she’d change later, but her pajamas weren’t even out.

“Who are you waiting for?”

“Oh, no one, no one!” But she stayed at the window, squinted further. “I just thought I saw something.” She dropped back on the bed, and played with tangled sheets. 

Junko leaned against the doorway. “Is the rain keeping you up?”

“A little,” she said. “I just – there was this weird dream I had, a few nights ago. There was a hurricane, or something, and – it was bad. Everything was gone, and everyone was hurt, and I couldn’t even stop it.”

“Well, no one can stop a hurricane. But I can see why it concerns you.” The rain was awfully heavy, like the storms of her childhood. If those were any measure, this was going to get a lot worse. “If you’re stressed, it helps to take your mind off things until you get tired.”

She nodded, but when she reached out to prop up a stuffed cat, she glanced out the window again.

Junko thought of the missing girl Saotome told her about, the one who was supposed to transfer into Madoka’s class. All that was left of her was her unmade bed at the hospital. Nothing else.

It was a little unsettling, and sad. She and Madoka could have been friends, maybe.

Shifting in place, she said, “It’s kind of a bad night to go out, you know.” 

“Mama, I wasn’t even thinking about it!”

“Right,” she winked. “Your motorcycle gang meeting has to wait for another time.”

Madoka tried looking exasperated but just grinned, and it made Junko feel better. “I’m not brave enough for something like that.”

“Not stupid enough, you mean. Believe me, you’re a lot better off than I was!” Before Madoka could insist otherwise, she pushed herself upright. “Get some sleep, okay?”

At the every end of the hall, she could barely see it: Madoka was at the window again, hands on its latches.

There was a time when Madoka would have to leave, she knew. But this wasn’t the right time.

 

(By morning, all that was left of Madoka was her unmade bed.

She should have told her to stay, she knew. She should have told her.)

 

It is morning. The sky is gone, however, and it feels like night.

She knew something like this was going to happen the moment Madoka walked away – and now it’s happening.

Madoka lingers on the stairs, but she won’t wait for long. Her mouth is a thin line. Unreadable.

It feels like Madoka’s done this countless times before, even though it’s impossible – completely impossible. 

She could die out there. She must already know that.

But there is something certain in her countenance, something that had woken her up and wouldn’t let her fall back asleep. Everything about her said she wasn’t going to let anyone stop her, not even Junko.

So she doesn’t say anything. 

Madoka turns back once, shows her smile one last time.

“Thank you, Mom.”

She runs off into the storm.

Her eyes follow the blur of Madoka’s figure until it is completely consumed by the rain.

 

 

 

It was night. The dishes were clean, Tomohisa and Tatsuya had gone to bed, and Homura was about to go home. That was when the rain started. 

“Look at that,” Junko said. The rain wasn’t terrible, but it was cold and fell in long strings. “Who could have expected this?”

Homura finished getting on her shoes, expression unchanging. Trying to be a cool kid again. “I didn’t bring my umbrella.”

“And I left mine at work.” She had the grace to thump on the table instead of swearing. “Are you really going out like that?”

“My apartment isn’t far from here. It’ll be fine.”

“Your clothes will get soaked, though. You’ll get sick. At least, your hair’s going to take months, if not years, to dry.”

She said again, smiling, “It’ll be fine.”

Junko couldn’t buy it. Homura wasn’t some kind of superhuman; she could be strangely detached and insubstantial at times, and it boggled Junko that she could live so far from her parents, but through dinner, she was just a fourteen-year-old girl, all stiff and shy but hungry, swallowing her nervousness to make awkward conversation. There was just something about her, something strange, a feeling like forgetting something just before saying it. It was probably just her imagination.

Still.

“You know, there’s a guest room upstairs. It’s kind of empty, but it’s clean, and there’s a nice window.”

Homura pulled the sweater over her head. “I don’t know.”

“Really,” Junko said. “It’s fine. Tomohisa won’t mind. It’s nice to have guests.”

She couldn’t look at her in the eye. “Thank you, but I don’t sleep well in new places.” She touched her ribbon with both hands, tightened the knot. Something about it jogged Junko’s imagination again. “And it really feels like I would be imposing myself on you. You’ve already done enough for me.”

There was something about this kid, she knew. Something strange. 

“I was just worried,” she said. “But if you’re going to be stupid, at least let me get you something. We might have an umbrella around. Or a hat.”

She had no idea what she said – maybe it was the stupid part – but Homura looked out the glass for a while, tilted her head up to the rain. “On second thought,” she said, “I think I can stay here until it stops raining. Then I’ll go home.”

She was absolutely the strangest kid, but it made Junko feel better. Satisfied some place she didn’t realize was empty. “You can use the couch. There’s probably some stuff on TV you can watch.”

After a pause, Homura took off her shoes. “I’ll do that,” she said. “Thank you.”

 

(By morning, the rain had stopped, and Homura was still there. Eyes shut, arms sprawled out, completely comfortable, completely relaxed.

For whatever reason, it made her feel better, seeing her like that.)


End file.
